


The Pinstripes Are All That They See

by haggarrrd



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic Violence, Kinda, M/M, Pining Enjolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haggarrrd/pseuds/haggarrrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something wrong with Grantaire that he's trying his best to hide, but Enjolras is determined to find out what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Man Inside the Clues

Admitting that he had feelings for Grantaire had been hard enough for Enjolras, simply because it was Grantaire, the cynical drunk who claimed residence of the back table of the Musian during their meetings and was constantly covered in paint. He was everything that Enjolras wasn’t, and for that reason the blond believed that he couldn’t love Grantaire; they were too different, wanted things that differed too vastly. They weren’t compatible, and that was a fact that Enjolras was sure about.

He couldn’t deny it forever though; the more time he spent with Grantaire, the harder it became to deny his feelings. Grantaire made his stomach flip uncomfortably, and his heart would flutter in a rapid pattern. He spent so many nights awake, slaving over the thought of actually being in love with Grantaire; he tried to convince himself otherwise—he tried to tell himself that Grantaire was too cynical, too unmotivated, too messy, but then he found that those were the things he loved the best about Grantaire. He loved that Grantaire could strengthen his arguments by criticising them, he loved the way Grantaire would lean back in his seat and smile slightly while others buzzed around him busily, and he loved the way that Grantaire was so out of place that he was just somehow in place. 

He loved Grantaire, and the thought of how much he loved him still scared him sometimes. 

By the time he had built up enough courage to tell Grantaire how he felt, urged on by Courfeyrac and Jehan, Grantaire had started dating Montparnasse, and his opportunity was gone. He was more than happy to wait for the two of them to break up before he declared his feelings (and he was certain that they would break up, because Montparnasse was horrible for Grantaire, and his beloved cynic would have to recognise that eventually.) even though it did strike his heart a little every time he saw Grantaire’s smiles directed towards the tall black haired man rather than himself. 

Grantaire was happy with Montparnasse, and Enjolras wasn’t about to ruin that so that he could be happy, so he sat back and watched with jealousy as Montparnasse played with Grantaire’s dark curls, or as Grantaire leaned into the taller man’s side and grinned as they shared cigarettes. Montparnasse was entirely wrong for Grantaire; he was destructive and had too many harmful vices—Enjolras lived in fear that one day those vices would rub off on Grantaire, and he would turn to something stronger than cigarettes and alcohol. 

A couple of months into their relationship, just as it looked as if things were starting to get serious, Montparnasse stopped coming to their meetings, and Grantaire went back to sitting with Feuilly, Bahorel and Jehan, and Enjolras never had to see the man, for which he was grateful. He wasn’t sure why Montparnasse stopped coming, but he didn’t really care either; the man contributed nothing to their meetings, and only proved to distract Grantaire. Enjolras only tolerated his presence because he made Grantaire smile, and that was gift enough to the blond man.

Enjolras didn’t really notice at first, although he felt that he had been watching carefully and therefore should have noticed, but Grantaire’s smiles started declining shortly after Montparnasse stopped accompanying him to meetings, and he started to drink more than he had done before—a feat that Enjolras had thought impossible, and loathed entirely. At first, Enjolras had assumed that the two had broken up, but Jehan assured him that they were still together and had seen the tall man leaving their apartment just that morning. Enjolras took it upon himself to assume that Grantaire simply wasn’t happy with Montparnasse anymore (more out of hope than out of proof), even though he had no way of proving that fact. But then Grantaire started to look a little paler every time they saw each other, and he offered up his opinions less and less each time they met, and he started to suspect that something was seriously wrong with the man; his mind considered all the possibilities—he was having trouble sleeping, he wasn’t eating properly, he was seriously ill. Enjolras considered it all, but he had no true way of knowing. 

When Grantaire fell asleep mid-meeting one week, he decided to question the cynic. Everyone else had gone home when Enjolras promised to take care of the sleeping man, and Grantaire was still asleep in his seat, snoring gently. The blond placed a gentle hand on the sleeping man’s shoulder and, as much as it pained him, shook slightly, trying to rouse him out of his state of sleep; Grantaire jumped slightly, then sat up straight and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands, resembling a small child (and making Enjolras’ heart flutter like he was a school girl), and said, “what’s going on?”

“The meetings over,” Enjolras smiled slightly and sat down in the seat beside Grantaire. Enjolras inspected the man now that he was sat so closely to him, and noticed that he had dark circles beneath his eyes, which were a little bloodshot and his eyelids were slightly drooped; the darkness beneath his eyes was only accentuated by the pale shade of his face, which was hideously pasty. He looked sickly and gaunt, and not at all like he had done when Enjolras realised that he was in love with him. Grantaire had always been on the slender side, but now he looked truly scrawny. Enjolras frowned, “are you okay?”

“Are you mad? I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I’m sorry.” Grantaire whispered as he tugged at the ends of his sleeves, pulling them down over his hands. He chewed at the corner of his lip and looked down at his hands, causing Enjolras’ frown to deepen further.

“No, of course I’m not mad. I’m just worried about you.” Answered Enjolras. He reached out and grabbed one of Grantaire’s hands with his own, trying to get the man to stop fidgeting and actually look at him, “you know we’re friends right? If there’s something going on with you that’s bothering you then you can tell me. I only want to help.”

Grantaire plucked his hand from Enjolras’ and looked at his curiously, his head cocked to the side, “But you hate me, why would you want to help me? Not that anything’s wrong at all, other than the fact that I only got a few hours’ sleep last night; working on my portfolio before the semesters over, y’know? Then today was so long and I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“I don’t hate you.”

Grantaire cocked his head to the side, “what?”

“I said I don’t hate you,” Enjolras repeated. He and Grantaire had never been close, he’d admit that, but he had considered the other man a friend since the day that they met, and he’d never hate one of his friends. Even when he and Grantaire argued, which was often, the word hate never even crossed his mind. “How could you think that I hate you?”

“Because you’re always yelling at me,” Grantaire shrugged and pulled his phone out of his pocket; Enjolras could see the caller ID on the screen and saw Montparnasse’s name flash across the screen, causing him to inwardly cringe. Grantaire excused himself for a moment and talked in a hushed voice as he ran a hand through his hair. A couple of seconds later Grantaire returned to the table that he had been sat at, but instead of sitting back down to continue their conversation, he picked up his messenger back and hoisted it onto his shoulder, “Parnasse is waiting for me outside, I gotta go.”

“Grantaire wait,” Enjolras reached out and grabbed the man’s wrist, then tried to pull him back down so that he was in his seat, but Grantaire yanked his hand out of Enjolras’ grip as if he had been burnt. “Can we just talk for a minute?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.” Grantaire sighed and shook his head, tugging his sleeves down over his hands again. Enjolras stood up, but the raven haired man was already shuffling towards the door. “Montparnasse is outside, I can’t keep him waiting. I’m sorry for falling asleep; I promise I won’t do it again next time.”

And then Grantaire was gone, his footsteps echoing down the stairs and into the room that Enjolras still inhabited.

++++

Grantaire skipped a couple of meetings after that, and didn’t tag along when they all went out drinking for the night; if it hadn’t been for Jehan, who told them that Grantaire had just spent a couple of weeks out of town with Montparnasse, they would have believed that he was completely AWOL. He was on strict radio silence, and only replied to texts sent by either Jehan, or Feuilly to let them know that he was okay and would be back soon; he ignored all of the texts that Enjolras sent him, which the blond was not willing to admit bothered him, even though it did. 

When Grantaire finally did come back, it was on the hottest day of the year; they were all hanging out at Enjolras’ place, watching movies before their evening meeting because it was too hot to do anything else. All of the windows to his apartment were wide open, inviting in fresh air and cool breezes, and all of Les Amis had shed as much of their clothing as possible to try and cool themselves down (in most cases that meant tank tops and shorts, but Courfeyrac opted for lounging around in the shortest pair of shorts he owned and nothing but them.) Grantaire walked through the door with Jehan and sat in his usual spot in the armchair, squeezed in next to the poet. He wore shorts, just like everybody else, but paired them with an old oversized hoodie that was splattered with paint. As the minutes passed, the red that coloured his cheeks increased and the dark curls that fell onto his forehead clung to the sweaty skin there.

Courfeyrac kept trying to get him to take the damn thing off because he was going to get heat stroke if he carried on wearing it, but Grantaire insisted that he wasn’t hot, despite what the evidence said. Feuilly even tried to peel the item of clothing off of Grantaire’s body, which resulted in a rather hideous shriek from the cynic. He claimed that he was fine, and even though he wasn’t, everyone believed him and went back to what they were doing before they had noticed that Grantaire was practically cooking himself.

Grantaire was slumped back in the seat he had inhibited and covered his eyes with his hand, trying to shield them from the light that was causing him the most hideous headache he had ever experienced. He groaned and pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to rub away the throbbing pain that had taken over his mind; Enjolras’ booming voice was only making the pain worse, and he knew that if he only took his jacket off like his friends were telling him to, the headache would go away, but he couldn’t, because then they would all see and they’d all judge him and he’d feel so ashamed of himself that he doubted he’d ever be able to face any of them ever again. They would all know just how weak he truly was.

He felt like the physical embodiment of death.

His skin felt clammy and heavy, and the room was so clammy that the air felt too thick for him to be able to breathe properly. He was going to have to excuse himself so that he could go to the bathroom and take the long sleeved hoodie off for a couple of minutes, just so that he could cool down and splash some cold water on his face. But the heat was making him queasy and dizzy, and he wasn’t even sure that he could remember how to move, let alone get his body to actually follow through on the action. 

He took a deep breath and stood up, deciding that some cold water would probably aid the heat he was currently killing himself in. He grabbed the back of his chair as he stood, ignorant to the way that all eyes were suddenly focused on him rather than their blond haired leader. The room was spinning around him and his hands were shaking violently, so he closed his eyes against the way that the room was twisting before his eyes; the movement only made him feel twice and sick, and he suddenly wasn’t so sure that he could keep the contents of his stomach down.

“Grantaire?” The cynic opened his blue eyes, saw the way that Jehan was looking him with concern, one arm extended towards him tentatively. Grantaire could see Enjolras’ concerned face over the poet’s shoulder, and Grantaire wanted to apologise because he didn’t mean to interrupt the movie, but he couldn’t find him words. They’d abandoned him in his time of need.

His head was pounding and his legs were shaking so terribly he wasn’t sure that they’d be able to support him much longer. His chest was so tight, and he was so hot, he was unable to control the way he was gulping down air as if it was water. 

He opened his mouth to tell Jehan that he was going to the bathroom, but promptly collapsed to the ground, robbed of all consciousness.


	2. The World Will Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras discovers what Grantaire has been hiding, but promises not to tell anyone.

“Grantaire!” Jehan squealed and dove to the ground next to his fallen friend. Everyone crowded around them, worry thick in the warm air, until Joly told them to back off and give him some room to breathe. The medic student took control of the situation, and told Enjolras to carry the smaller man into one of his bedrooms, and told everybody else to wait in the lounge so that they didn’t overcrowd him. Enjolras did as he was told, and held Grantaire’s warm body close to his own as he carried him into his bedroom and placed him down on the sheets.

“Take that hoodie off of him while I go get a cold flannel and some water.” Joly commanded. 

It was a struggle, what with Grantaire being unconscious, but he eventually managed to peel the soggy fabric away from Grantaire’s body, and tossed it onto the floor next to the bed. You could say that was when the truth came out, although it wasn’t really clear at that point just exactly what the truth was. Enjolras looked at Grantaire’s bare torso and gasped loudly at what he saw; the smaller, dark haired man was covered in bruises, all varying shapes and sizes. Around his scrawny wrists there were bruises that were exact imprints of someone’s hands from where they had gripped him too hard; his ribs were an explosion of different colours, due to the age of the bruises—some were a harsh purple, while others were fading to a pale brown. There were matching bruises on his arms, and there were bruises that peppered his collarbones that were roughly the size of a thumbprint. Enjolras didn't know where the bruises had come from, but he had a pretty good idea and it answered to the name of Montparnasse.

Grantaire's body was in shocking condition (not that Enjolras really knew what he had looked like before the incident), aside from the bruises, he was too skinny; his hipbones stuck out a little more than normal, and his ribs were visible enought that Enjolras was sure that he wouldn’t have too much difficulty counting them if he tried. His cheekbones were slightly more prominent than they had been before he went away too, and the blond wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed that until now. Enjolras’ hand hovered above the bruises, a sickly feeling running though his stomach as he considered just how they had gotten there. 

“What happened?” Grantaire croaked. Enjolras’ brown eyes flicked up to meet Grantaire’s blue, wide and full of panic. Grantaire’s eyes flickered as he struggled to come around after his fainting spell, but when he realised that he was topless, his face contorted in fear. He reached out and grabbed Enjolras’ arm, making sure that he couldn’t move, “please don’t tell anybody.”

“How did all these bruises get here?” Questioned Enjolras, although he already had his suspicions. 

Grantaire shrugged and wrapped his arms around his torso, trying to hide his exposed body. “Could you pass me my hoodie, I’m cold.”

“You just passed out from overheating,” Enjolras scoffed and shook his head, a look of disbelief gracing his features. “And you’re still all clammy and sweating, there’s no way you’re cold. Now tell me, how did you get all these bruises? Don’t lie to me, you’re a terrible liar.”

“I got into a fight.” A lie; Enjolras could tell just by looking at the marks on Grantaire’s skin that they didn’t come from a fight. Some looked too old to have been from a recent fight, and some looked as though they had been formed just that morning. Besides, Grantaire’s knuckles were smooth and unblemished; if he’d been in a fight they would have been all torn up, just like Bahorel’s were any time he fought. “Please, Enjolras, don’t tell anyone, it’s embarrassing.”

“You’re lying,” Enjolras hissed, fully aware that Joly could walk through the door at any second and see all the bruises for himself, and then everybody would know. He got up from the bed and rifled around in his closet, looking for something that would cover the bruises without melting Grantaire. He tossed a thin, long sleeved shirt at him and said, “Did Montparnasse do this?”

“No!” Grantaire exclaimed as he pulled the shirt over his head; it was far too big for him, and it almost exposed one of the bruises on his collar, but it would do the job well enough. “He would never do that.”

“Are you forgetting I’ve met Montparnasse? I was there that time he beat up that guy for looking at you wrong.” Enjolras countered. “We both know what he’s capable of. Why do you stay with him if he does this to you? If you want me to keep your secret then you’d better tell me the truth.”

“Because I love him.” Grantaire whispered, shame covering his face. “And he loves me. He doesn’t mean to hurt me, I just make him so angry sometimes and I swear, I deserve it. I always deserve it.”

“If he loved you then he wouldn’t hurt you,” Enjolras snapped; he couldn’t believe what Grantaire was saying to him. “Are you seriously that stupid that you think that you actually deserve to be beat black and blue? What’s it going to take for you to realise that you can’t stay with him? Is he gonna have to put you in the hospital before you realise that you need to get out of this relationship?”

“Stop making him sound like a monster,” argued Grantaire weakly. He looked up from his hands with angry blue eyes, and he looked as if he were going to cry at any minute, “He’s all that I have so just stop. You have never cared about me so I don’t understand why you’re acting like this now. You can stop acting all high and mighty, I’m not some pathetic cause for you to save.” He stood up off of the bed and stalked past Enjolras, “Thank you for the shirt, and for keeping my secret, but I don’t need you to protect me.”

Grantaire pushed past Enjolras and rushed down the hallway, stalking past Joly and out of the front door before he even had time to process the fact that he’d just admitted his darkest secret to Enjolras.

+++++

Grantaire was not actually sure why he was still with Montparnasse. Despite what he said, he did not actually love the man; at the beginning of their relationship he had lusted after him, and they had gotten on so well that he thought he had stronger feelings, but they began to fade away over time. He had always known that his feelings were reserved for Enjolras and no one else, but Enjolras was so unattainable. 

He stayed with Montparnasse for two reasons. Partly because he was scared—no, terrified, of what the man would do to him if he tried to leave. He had said so many times that he’d kill him if he even thought about leaving, so Grantaire never would. He knew that Montparnasse didn’t make empty threats; he’d find him, and then he’d kill him. But he also wouldn’t leave Montparnasse because if he did, he knew that he’d never find anyone else to love him. Maybe their love was dysfunctional, but Grantaire had someone who loved him, so no matter how torturous it got, he’d endure it until Montparnasse finally grew tired of him and threw him away in favour of something new. 

Grantaire took his time walking back to Montparnasse’s flat, where he knew the man was waiting for him. He remembered a time when he’d actually been excited to see Montparnasse, but now he dreaded it. If his boyfriend had been drinking, his temper would be twice as bad, and if he’d taken something stronger, he would be impossible. Montparnasse was rarely in good moods anymore. 

Surprisingly, the only thing Montparnasse did when he walked through the front door was smile sweetly, and pulled Grantaire into a hug. He placed a tender kiss atop of his black curls. For a moment, Grantaire wondered if they were going to have one of their rare good days where no harsh words or blows were exchanged. Grantaire lived for these days; days where he knew that he would be safe, and the only times that Montparnasse would touch him would be to kiss him or stroke a hand through his hair. 

“So, where have you been?” Montparnasse asked, his voice so sweet Grantaire was sure he’d gain at least three cavities, as he pulled Grantaire down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s waist. “I missed you, I thought you’d be here sooner.”

“I’m sorry,” said Grantaire quietly. Lateness was one of Montparnasse’s pet peeves, and it was usually met with an immediate slap. “I was with my friends, we were just watching some movies and I lost track of time. I won’t do it again, I promise, it’s just I haven’t seen my friends for a few weeks and I missed them.”

“Don’t apologise, R. You’re allowed to spend time with your friends.” Montparnasse cooed, a tender tone to his voice that Grantaire did not recognise, not even from the early days of their relationship. Grantaire smiled up at him, and then noticed the wicked glint to his boyfriend’s eyes and cringed. “Unless,” Montparnasse continued, his fingers tightening in their grip on Grantaire’s waist to a point that it was almost painful. Bruises would be there by the time morning rolled around. “Unless Enjolras was there. You know you’re not to be around him, not even when Jehan and the others are there, you promised. Was he there? Don’t you lie now, things will be twice as bad if I find out that you lied to me, and you know I will find out. I always find out.”

Montparnasse had a certain set of rules that Grantaire was expected to abide by, and had promised to follow after a particularly bad beating that left him with two black eyes and a broken nose. Montparnasse was well aware of how Grantaire felt about Enjolras, and so his most important rule was that Grantaire was not to spend time with him, no matter what. If Enjolras turned up unexpectedly, he was supposed to leave immediately. Further, he was not allowed to lie; the first time Montparnasse had found out about his lies was also the first time that Montparnasse used his belt to punish Grantaire for his mistakes. Third, Grantaire was to respect all times that had been arranged between them, and never turn up late to anything, which was a particularly hard rule for Grantaire to follow, as he was late by nature. 

There were other rules, ones that Montparnasse hadn’t drilled into him so thoroughly but still punished him for mercilessly. Lately, if Grantaire got drunk, Montparnasse got angry, so he tried his best to stay away from the vices he had once practiced daily. If he didn’t clean up after himself, Montparnasse would throw the things that had been left out of place at his human target. 

“Yes, he was.” Grantaire whispered and looked down at his lap, trying not to allow his pain to seep into his expression. “I’m sorry. I should have followed the rules, I’m sorry for disobeying them.”

“Where were you?”

Grantaire could not hide the shame that slipped into his voice as he spoke; he had broken the rules, and he had done so drastically. If he had been somewhere that Enjolras could have turned up at coincidentally, then Montparnasse might spare him a hideous punishment, but Grantaire had known that Enjolras would be there from the very beginning. “At his apartment.”

Montparnasse sucked in an angry breath and released his grip on Grantaire’s waist, only to shove him off of his lap and onto the ground. The cynic yelped as he collided with the ground, then screamed in pain as Montparnasse’s boot came into contact with his already bruised ribs. Another blow was delivered to his ribs, and it caused him to cough and splutter as pain racked his body. Montparnasse grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair and yanked his head backwards so that they were face to face, “You know that I hate doing this to you, so why do you keep breaking the rules? If you only did as you promised then I wouldn’t have to punish you.” Grantaire’s eyes watered viciously as his scalp burned. “Stand up and take your shirt off and then face the wall. Wait there while I go and fetch my belt. I hope you learn your lesson this time.”

Grantaire gasped in pain as he stood, pain searing down the right side of his body, but he did as he was told; if he failed to commit his task, he would receive a punishment that was twice as bad as the one he was already going to get. He peeled Enjolras’ shirt off of his beaten body, wincing when the movement pulled his ribs, and wondered what Montparnasse would say if he knew that Grantaire was wearing one of the blonde’s t-shirts, and that Enjolras had discovered their secret. 

“I think ten strikes should be enough, don’t you?” Montparnasse sneered, causing Grantaire to shiver. He knew that he had truly messed up this time; Montparnasse had never used the belt on him more than five times, and even then it cause his knees to buckle and his skin to burn so horribly that he wept for days whenever something came into contact with the injuries. Grantaire held his breath and prepared himself for the whip of leather against his skin, but nothing could prepare him for the actual pain of the belt’s impact. He gritted his teeth through the first three and grunted each time he was hit, but by the fourth and fifth he began to whimper and tears spilt over his waterline. 

By the sixth, Grantaire could no longer stand on his own two feet. His knees gave way and he fell to the ground, his hands catching his fall so that he was on all fours. Montparnasse made a tut of disapproval, and announced that his mistake would cause him an extra lash. Grantaire couldn’t keep himself from sobbing and screaming each time the belt collided with his skin; seven, eight, nine. He could feel blood on his back, the skin torn open and sore, covered in welts; his head was light and he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to endure another two lashes, but the hits came and then Montparnasse was pulling him to his feet and shoved his shirt back into his hands. A final slap to the face, and then the punishment was over.

“I no longer desire to see you tonight,” Montparnasse hissed, his face hard and bitter. “You can find your own way back to your flat, and think about what you did to deserve this.” He grabbed Grantaire’s throat and squeezed so hard that the cynic was sure bruises would appear. “Do something like this again and I’ll make sure you can’t move for a week. Now get out of my sight.”

Grantaire nodded and wiped his eyes, then pulled the shirt over his head, sobbing again when the movement disturbed the wounds on his back and the fabric irritated the fresh wounds. He breathed heavily and willed his head to stop spinning as he turned away from his boyfriend and headed towards the door, only stopping when Montparnasse yelled, “Oh, Grantaire? Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you.”

Grantaire scarcely made it back to his flat before blacking out for the second time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading this so soon after the last chapter due to the wonderful feedback! I'm so glad you're all enjoying it! I'm sure everyone saw this coming, right? I hope I at least took one person by surprise.
> 
> Chapter title is from Newsies.


	3. There's Change Coming Once and For All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras confronts Grantaire.

The next morning Grantaire could barely breathe, he was in so much pain, but he forced himself into the small bathroom he shared with Jehan so that he could assess the damage. As usual, his face was fine; Montparnasse was too smart to hit him in the face, where he couldn’t hide the damage (on the odd occasion that he had given Grantaire a black eye or a split lip, he was banned from leaving Montparnasse’s apartment until it was gone.) There were ghosts of bruises on his neck from where Grantaire had gripped him, but they’d be gone within a couple of days and he could hide them until then. 

The bruises on his ribs were worse than they had been the day before, but Grantaire was hardly unused to seeing the discolouration of his ribs. What he was really concerned with was the state of his back; his shirt had been encrusted with blood, and it had been painful to pull it away from his skin. He couldn’t see the full scale of the damage, but what he could see was worse than anything he had ever received in the past; his back was a mixture of cuts, bruises and welts. They’d scar for sure, but Grantaire was more concerned with the pain. He wouldn’t be able to sleep on his back for a week. 

Grantaire showered slowly, whimpering when the water stung at his beaten skin. He climbed out of the shower and let the air dry his skin; he doubted he’d be able to tolerate rubbing a towel over the wounds. He dressed mechanically, donning a clean pair of boxers and a baggy pair of sweatpants but forgoing a shirt; Jehan wouldn’t be home for hours, and while he could keep his back uncovered, he would, just so he could spare himself a little pain. He laid down on his bed, his face pressed into the mattress, and fell back asleep for a while, until an insistent knocking pulled him out of his slumber. Grudgingly, he pushed himself up and off of his bed and tugged a light cotton shirt over his head, then shuffled down the hallway to the front door.

He opened the door, and before he could even see the person stood behind it, heard, “what the hell did he do to you?!”

Grantaire considered slamming the door shut immediately, but he knew that Enjolras wouldn’t go anywhere if he did. It was too dangerous for him to be around the blond, but he couldn’t exactly escape from him at his own apartment. He stared at his friend for a moment, his expression bland, until Enjolras stormed past him and stood in the centre of the hallway, his arms crossed over his chest, clearly waiting for an answer. Grantaire closed the door quietly and shrugged, wincing as a consequence, “I broke the rules.”

“Rules?” Enjolras repeated, an incredulous tone to his voice that caused Grantaire to shrink away in fear; whenever Montparnasse yelled at him, it was always followed by a blow—he knew that Enjolras would never hit him, but the fear was there anyway. 

The cynic’s hand tightened around the door handle, his fingers turning white; he had to make Enjolras leave. Montparnasse would find out that he had been there, and then he’d use the belt again and Grantaire knew that he wouldn’t be able to handle any more pain. He looked down at the ground and in a quiet voice said, “You can’t be here, Enjolras. Please, I need you to go.”

Grantaire looked up in time to catch a spasm of hurt cross Enjolras’ features, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had come, so quickly that Grantaire was sure that he had imagined it. Enjolras didn’t leave though, as Grantaire had suspected that he would, but instead held his ground and squared his jaw; it was clear that he wasn’t going anywhere until he’d said everything that he had come to say. Enjolras gulped, took a step forward and grabbed Grantaire’s hand. In a tender voice, one that Grantaire had never before associated with the blond before, he said, “I can’t keep your secret, Grantaire. I just can’t so don’t ask me to; I can’t stand by and say nothing while he beats you and hurts you, no matter how much you think you deserve it.” Enjolras brought a shaking hand up to gently trace the new bruises on Grantaire’s neck. “Leave him, Grantaire, please. This isn’t love, he doesn’t love you or he wouldn’t hurt you. You deserve to be with somebody who loves you and who doesn’t treat you like a punching bag.”

“I can’t,” Grantaire whispered, closing his eyes against the tears that he could feel forming there. Enjolras was wrong; he did deserve it. All Montparnasse asked for was for him to follow the rules, and Grantaire just kept breaking them. He deserved to be punished for that. “I can’t leave him. He does love me, no matter what you say. No one will ever love me as much as he does.”

“I do!” Enjolras blurted. Grantaire eyes snapped open and he trained his wide, blue eyes on Enjolras’ face. The blond man looked desperate, as he worried his lower lip between his pearly white teeth and stared right back at Grantaire, brown meeting blue. “I… I shouldn’t have said that, I wasn’t going to. It’s not the right time, and I didn’t want you to find out that way but I do. I love you and it kills me to see you get hurt, especially when I know that I could be so much better for you. I would never hurt you.” 

“You don’t love me, you can’t.” Grantaire shook his head; he couldn’t believe Enjolras. It was too much to believe—his every hope and dream was coming true right in front of him and he couldn’t even tell if it was all part of some sick joke or if it was the truth. “I can’t leave him, Enjolras. He would kill me if I tried. You can’t tell me that you love me, it’s not fair.” 

“But I do love you.” Said Enjolras softly as he leaned in closer to Grantaire, taking his time. He brought his hand up to cup Grantaire’s cheek, and he kept his brown eyes focused on the cynic’s blue. Grantaire looked apprehensive, but nothing on his face screamed stop, no matter how much he knew that he should be trying to get Enjolras away from him. Montparnasse would find out, and then Montparnasse would be angry. But he wanted Enjolras so badly; he had always wanted Enjolras, and now that he was actually there in front of him, there for the taking, Grantaire couldn’t resist. For a moment, he wondered if Montparnasse was putting him up to it, just so that he could be caught out and punished, but then the blond closed his eyes, and leaned forward to connect their lips. 

Grantaire allowed himself to melt into the kiss after a couple of heartbeats, his eyes sliding closed in the same manner as Enjolras’ had moments before. Grantaire rested his hands on Enjolras’ chest as the kiss became more heated, the blond man licking his way into the cynic’s mouth, and then they were kissing desperately, all tongue and teeth, and Grantaire was gripped Enjolras’ shirt tightly as the blond fisted his hands in his inky curls.

Enjolras backed the both up so that Grantaire was pushed up against the wall, their mouths still connected; as soon as Grantaire’s back connected with the wall, his entire body felt as though it were on fire. He screamed out in pain and pushed Enjolras away slightly so that he could get his sore skin away from the hard surface. Enjolras caught him, panic written on his face, as he stumbled forwards, blinded by the pain that was soaking through his body. 

“What’s wrong, what did I do?” Enjolras urged, holding Grantaire up by the tops of his arms. He led Grantaire into the lounge and sat him down on the sofa, then crouched down in front of him to look at him tenderly, concern still written across his features.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” Grantaire panted. His back was still on fire, and pain was still coursing through his body, but he didn’t want to admit that to Enjolras. He didn’t want him to see the mess that was his back; it was pathetic and he was weak and Enjolras would judge him for it. He just couldn’t stand to be judged. He thought of the lashing that he’d get if Montparnasse ever found out that Enjolras has kissed him and he hadn’t done a thing to stop it, and that only served to make his skin burn even more. 

“Grantaire it’s not nothing.” Said Enjolras, exasperated. He grabbed the hem of Grantaire’s shirt and tugged slightly; when he spoke again, his voice was full of an authority that made Grantaire shiver, “What’s wrong with your back? Show me.”

Intimidated by the tone of the blonde’s voice, and the look in his dark eyes, Grantaire allowed Enjolras to peel his shirt off. Enjolras put his hands on the cynic’s shoulders and smiled reassuringly; a smile that told Grantaire he wasn’t going to get hurt, that he could trust him. He placed a kiss to the raven haired man’s forehead, and then turned him around. Grantaire closed his eyes as he prepared for Enjolras’ reaction; he prepared for Enjolras to tell him that he was disgusting, weak and pathetic, because that was the truth that Grantaire was aware of; it was how Montparnasse viewed him.

A small gasp escaped from Enjolras’ mouth, and his fingers tightened slightly on Grantaire’s shoulders, but he revealed nothing else about he felt about Grantaire’s wounds. The cynic felt dirty with Enjolras’ eyes on his back, his skin crawling as his imperfections were put on show. Enjolras turned him back around, and Grantaire prepared himself for something; a blow, harsh words—anything that would let him know how truly awful he was.

“He did this to you last night?” Enjolras asked, his face sympathetic and sad, not at all disgusted as Grantaire had expected it would be. The cynic nodded, so the blond continued, “why? What could you have possibly done to deserve such… such monstrous treatment?”

“Broke the rules. He’d do it again if he saw me now.” Grantaire whispered, terror creeping into his voice. 

“What are the rules?” Enjolras stroked his cheek gently. Grantaire wasn’t sure if he should say or not; the more he told Enjolras, the more Montparnasse was going to punish him for. He was already in so much trouble; he had broken the number one rule by being around Enjolras, but then to let him kiss him and then kiss him back was practically treason. Enjolras saw his hesitation and added, “please. I want to help.”

“He knows that I… that I love you, and it makes him jealous.” Grantaire didn’t dare raise his voice to more than a whisper. “So he told me not to be around you anymore. I’m supposed to leave if you’re there, so when he found out that I’d been to your apartment he got so mad. I knew the rules, I shouldn’t have gone but I missed you so much, I thought he’d never find out but I was late so he wanted to know where I’d been and I couldn’t lie.” Grantaire stopped and sobbed, suddenly struck by the realisation of just how much he had screwed up. “Oh god, he’s going to kill me. He said he’d kill me if I ever told anybody and I did. He’s going to kill me.”

“Shhh,” Enjolras cooed and pulled Grantaire into a hug, careful not to touch any of the wounds on his back, and raked a hand through the man’s curls. “I will never let him hurt you again. I promise you, he can’t hurt you anymore. You just need to get away from him.” Enjolras and bit his lip, looking around the apartment the man shared with Jehan. “You can’t stay here for a while, it’s not safe, he knows to look for you here. Pack up a bag and wait for me to come pick you up, you can stay with me until he disappears. Please Grantaire, will you?”

He pulled away and looked Grantaire in the eye, waiting for the man to make a decision. There was every possibility that Grantaire would say no; Enjolras had no idea how scared of Montparnasse the man was, or if he was brave enough to get away from him. He didn’t even know if Grantaire loved Montparnasse or not. Enjolras watched Grantaire, who eventually sighed and nodded. 

“I’m gonna go get some things ready, okay? I’ll be back in an hour.” Enjolras grinned and kissed Grantaire on the forehead. “I love you, and I’m gonna look after you.”

Grantaire smiled back at him sadly rested his head on Enjolras’ chest for a moment before mumbling, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Enjolras would be protective of any of his friends, that's not just me, right? 
> 
> Chapter title is a song lyric from Once and For All from Newsies
> 
> Lemme know what you think and we'll be best friends :)


	4. Catch Me I'm Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras doesn't come back in time.

As soon as Enjolras left, Grantaire went into his bedroom and grabbed his backpack out from under the bed. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing, or if he should forget all about this whole fantasy of being saved by Enjolras; Montparnasse could probably find him no matter where he went—after all, he knew where Grantaire worked and the building that his university art classes were held in. He wasn’t going to be too hard to find, so Grantaire wasn’t sure that he should even bother trying. But then he remembered that this was Enjolras, the man he had been in love with for years, and was apparently in love with him too, and that was all the motivation he needed.

He was sifting through his t-shirts when he heard the front door slam, not even five minutes after Enjolras had walked out. He rushed out into the lounge, to tell Jehan where he was going to be for the foreseeable future. He picked at the hem of his shirt as he walked, considering the best way to tell Jehan that he was staying with Enjolras without revealing why, “Hey Jehan, I’m not gonna be home for the next few weeks. I can’t say why but I’ll call you every night.”

“And why might that be?” Grantaire’s head snapped up and his eyes widened in fear; the voice that he heard was not the one he was expecting to hear. His eyes fell upon his tall, dark haired boyfriend, whose eyes were so dark and angry they looked black as coal. He took a step towards Grantaire, his hands clenched into fists by his side, and Grantaire took a step away, “it wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain blond haired guy that I just saw leaving your apartment, would it?” Grantaire bit his lip and shook his head. “You see, I didn’t think it would be. When I saw Enjolras walking out of here, I though, no, my Grantaire wouldn’t break the rules like that. He wouldn’t have Enjolras in his apartment when he knows that he isn’t supposed to see him. I thought he must be here for Jehan, and that you’d be in your room like a good boy, but now I see that Jehan isn’t even home and you say that you aren’t going to be home for a few weeks, so I have to assume that it’s something to do with him.”

Grantaire’s heart was in his chest; he had no idea how Montparnasse had seen Enjolras leaving his apartment, or what he had been doing there, but he knew that he was going to pay for it. He took another step forwards, looking for something; his phone so that he could call Enjolras, a door that he could slam shut and hide behind. “Parnasse, please. He was never here, I promise.” 

“You are lying to me!” Montparnasse roared, rushing forward and grabbing Grantaire tightly by the tops of his arms. He leaned forwards so that he was in Grantaire’s face and yelled, “You know you’re not supposed to lie to me. You promised. Why do you always break your promises, R? All I have ever done is love you, yet you keep breaking the rules. What have I done to deserve this?”

“You keep hurting me, Parnasse.” Grantaire whimpered, and earned himself a slap across the face. 

“I do not hurt you.” Montparnasse sneered, and Grantaire wondered how he had ever gotten into this situation. There had been a time when he thought Montparnasse was such a wonderful person, but back then he had no idea that the man even had this second side to him. “I don’t hurt you, I teach you a lesson when you break the rules. I am not a monster, I would never do anything to you that you don’t deserve. You’ve broken one too many rules, Grantaire.”

Using his grip on the tops of Grantaire’s arms, he flung the man onto the floor; the cynic tried to protect himself by sticking his arms out to catch his fall, but that only caused him to bang his head against the coffee table and a sickly snap resonated around the room, the source being his wrist. He screamed and clutched the limb to his chest, the pain in his wrist distracting him from the pain in his forehead. Grantaire looked up at his abuser, tear tracks staining his face, just in time to see Montparnasse’s fist coming towards him, and the next thing he knew, Montparnasse’s knuckle was connecting with his nose, which crunched beneath the blow. 

Montparnasse grabbed the front of Grantaire's shirt and threw him towards the ground, "Look what you make me do!"

“Montparnasse please,” Grantaire sobbed, the feeling of blood on his face terrifying him. “Stop please. I’m sorry I broke the rules, I didn’t mean to. I told him to leave, I promise I did.”

Montparnasse ignored his pleas, and kicked him in the ribs. Once, twice, three times until Grantaire was coughing and winded, and he couldn’t breathe at all, not even to beg for forgiveness. He pressed his face into the ground, only to feel Montparnasse’s hand in his hair; the man grabbed a handful and yanked Grantaire’s head up, then forced it back down into the ground. He leant down and grabbed Grantaire’s damaged wrist and pulled, making a sharp twist backwards that pressed the cynic’s hand against the nape of his neck, and caused his shoulder to pop loudly. The pain in his hand was gone, replaced by a numbness that spread through the entire right side of his torso. Grantaire wanted to scream, but he felt disconnected from his entire body. He was in so much pain and it just wasn’t stopping; he just wanted it to stop. He wanted to be safe with Enjolras, in the blonde’s apartment where no one could ever hurt him, but he knew that Montparnasse would never let that happen. Montparnasse was going to kill him and there was nothing that he could do to stop him because his limbs had deserted him, and he couldn’t force his brain to control them.

A shoe connected with his ribs once again, and all Grantaire heard before he blacked out was, “don’t you dare do that again! Get away from him!” 

+++++

“Hello?”

“Enjolras, it’s Courfeyrac.” The voice on the other end of the phone informed, even though he had caller ID and knew that it was his copper haired friend. Enjolras frowned when he picked up on the worried undertone to Courfeyrac’s usually joyous voice. “Do you think you could come down to the hospital? It’s Grantaire.” 

Enjolras almost dropped his phone; he was on his way back to pick Grantaire up. Grantaire was packing a bag and getting ready to leave Montparnasse, how could he be in the hospital? Enjolras took a deep breath, considering the possibility that he had taken too long to get back to Grantaire’s flat and said, “I’m driving already, I’ll be there in ten minutes. Is he okay?”

“He will be,” Assured Courfeyrac, although his tone was still grim and worried. A pause, and then, “I… I don’t think this is the kind of conversation we should have over the phone. Just get here safe.”

Then Courfeyrac hung up, and Enjolras found himself driving a little too fast towards the hospital, running more than one stop sign and a red light too. A small part of him still hoped that this was a mistake—that Grantaire wasn’t in the hospital, but he knew that there was no point in hoping. If Montparnasse had gotten to Grantaire before Enjolras could, then he knew that the cynic would be in a horrific state. He pulled into a parking space beside Courfeyrac’s hideous yellow contraption, and practically ran into the ER. 

Jehan was outside by the doors when he reached the entrance, smoking with trembling hands. He looked up at Enjolras as he approached, and the blond could tell that the poet had been crying from the way that his eyes were red rimmed and blood shot. Enjolras tugged the man into a hug as soon as he was close enough and held him tightly as he shook slightly. When they broke apart, Jehan took a shaky breath and said, “I got home and I could hear him screaming. I didn’t know what was happening.” Jehan’s voice cracked, and he took a drag on his cigarette. “I should have been home sooner and then I could have stopped it.” 

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t your fault, Jehan.” Enjolras said softly, but Jehan just shook his head.

“You didn’t see it. Montparnasse was kicking him and I didn’t know what was going on, but I could see so much blood on Grantaire’s face.” Jehan sobbed and covered his eyes with the hand that wasn’t holding his cigarette, then carded the same hand through his hair. “I screamed at him to stop and he ran, I don’t even know where he went but I couldn’t go after him because Grantaire wasn’t moving and he was bleeding so much and I thought he was dead, I couldn’t see him breathing. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. He came around a bit in the ambulance but he was in so much pain they sedated him.”

Jehan stubbed the cigarette out and threw it into the bushes, then lead Enjolras through the front doors to where Courfeyrac was waiting with news, “The doctor just came out to tell us that he’s still asleep but we can go see him now and they’ll talk to us in his room.”

The doctor was waiting for them in Grantaire’s room, where the man was sleeping soundly in the bed that was centre to the room. Jehan whimpered and shrunk into Courfeyrac’s side when he saw his best friend, and Enjolras felt a sickly feeling run through his stomach. The cynic’s wrist was encased in a fresh, flight blue plaster, and the same arm was strapped to his chest for reasons that Enjolras couldn’t even begin to understand. His face harboured even more damage and Enjolras found it hard to believe that an hour ago, his face had been free from any damage. Both of his eyes were blackened, the bruises trailing down his nose, suggesting that it had at some point been broken. His lip too was split, and a large gash ran across his forehead, intercepted by a flourish of bruises and held together by three stitches. 

“We’re keeping your friend sedated at the moment just to handle the pain,” The doctor explained upon the entrance of the three men, barely looking up from the chart in his hands. “He’ll be in and out for the next day or so, but considering the painkillers we have him on, that’s completely normal and nothing to worry about. He’ll be asleep for longer than he’ll be awake, but his body needs to recover.” He put the chart down and looked up at the men with piercing grey eyes. “Your friend had a lot of existing damage; it’s astounding that his body tolerated it for so long. Six of his ribs are broken, by the looks of it some of them have been that way for days, and the bruising around them supports that; he also had a separated rib, which we managed to find just in time. His back is in the worst state that I have ever seen, but luckily none of the wounds are infected, so they should heal up with minimal scarring.” He pointed to the sling around Grantaire’s arm, “We had to reset his shoulder due to dislocation, but both that and his wrist will heal in time.”

“I understand that this is a hard time for you boys, but hospital policy means I have to ask.” The man continued, looking at each of the three men in turn. “Do you know how your friend got these injuries?”

“His boyfriend.” Enjolras answered instantly, cringing at the realisation that despite everything, Montparnasse was still Grantaire’s boyfriend. He looked at Jehan and Courfeyrac then back to the doctors, “I found out yesterday that his boyfriend has been beating him for month every time he doesn’t follow a set of rules. He was going to run away today but I guess Montparnasse found him first.”

The doctor nodded and left the room, and then all eyes turned to Enjolras. Courfeyrac was frowning slightly, his facial expression a mixture of concern and curiosity, but Jehan simply looked sad and upset, “He was going to run away?”

“Not like that, he wasn’t just going to take off” Enjolras shook his head; of course Jehan was upset at the thought that Grantaire was going to run away without saying a word to him. He decided that explanations were in order, just to settle Jehan a little. “When he passed out yesterday Joly told me to take that stupid jumper off of him and that’s when I saw all the bruises, so I made him tell me how he got them and he said Montparnasse did them but he didn’t want to leave him. I don’t know why, I think he was scared, but he wanted me to keep it a secret.” Enjolras sighed. Then, “But I wouldn’t, so this morning I went over to talk him into leaving Montparnasse, and we argued a little but eventually he agreed, so he was going to hide at my place until things were safe.”

“Wait, did something happen between you two? You know… something more than friendly.” Courfeyrac smirked, and Jehan giggled as he pressed his face into the brunette’s shoulder, his previous worries of abandonment dissipated. Enjolras flushed a deep scarlet and focused his brown eyes on the floor, which was all the answer that Courfeyrac needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of this that I really haven't liked all that much sooo, I hope you do!
> 
> Title is from Next To Normal

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys like this! Feedback would be wonderful.
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from Catch Me If You Can


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